


Alarm

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28537317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Harry catches a break on night shift.
Relationships: Chakotay/Harry Kim
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Alarm

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Harry races through the corridors, both ruing the empty halls for the lack of crew there to help him and glad there’s no one he can accidentally bowl over. He’s a man on a mission and runs like his life depends on it. It just might. _All their lives_ might. And he’s not qualified to handle that, so he stops in front of Command Chakotay’s quarters, solely because the last time Harry checked, Captain Janeway was having a midnight snack in the mess hall, and there’s no time to run there. 

The computer would announce him on its own, but as soon as he’s skidded to a halt, he barks out, “Commander!” anyway. Then he doubles over, bracing his hands against his knees, trying to catch his breath. He probably should’ve sent someone else—a cadet in better shape, one who wasn’t supposed to be in the captain’s chair. It’s too late now. He would’ve liked to just send a comm signal, but the alien scan that’s presumably still going could’ve picked that up, and he doesn’t want the aliens to overhear their strategy.

He just hopes Chakotay does have a strategy. Preferably something they can employ before the captain even knows that Harry ran into trouble. It’s the first time in a month _anything’s_ happened during nightshift, and now he just wishes that boring streak kept up.

As soon as the doors part, Harry straightens, and then he’s standing face-to-face with Commander Chakotay, tall and broad and so much more _powerful_ than Harry will ever be. He looks like he belongs on the bridge of a starship, handling all sorts of crises and chaos. And he looks tired, only a little bit, stripped out of his jacket but still in his black uniform pants and the too-tight purple-grey undershirt. It’s sucked against his body, smoothing over his well-toned chest, showing off his figure more than it probably should, because there’s a brief pause where Harry’s lost in that—distracted by the rare glimpse of biceps and abs. It’s not that Chakotay overly muscular, but seeing him out of uniform is a small thrill in itself, and his uniform’s never done him justice. But Harry doesn’t have the luxury of gawking at his superior officer, not when the ship’s about to go up in flames. 

Chakotay greets, “Harry,” features slipping into a careful frown—Harry knows he must look _wrecked_. He’s never had Janeway’s poker face. He really does try, but some things are just too much. 

He reminds himself that applies at the moment and forces himself not to think about how hot Chakotay looks right before bed or the fact that his belt’s even unbuckled and his fly might be one button open. Sucking in a breath, Harry rushes, “An alien ship suddenly appeared ahead of us five minutes ago and began scanning Voyager—as far as I know, it’s still scanning, and it’s also equipped with a lot more than scanners; it has enough firepower to knock our shields out in one hit. It’s not responding to hails, and we can’t get a read on life signs or any tactical information beyond incredible weapon signatures that—”

Harry’s combadge beeps, interrupting him mid-rant. Chakotay’s expression has hardened, and it’s like his whole body’s risen out of sleep, suddenly braced and ready to lunge, like a panther on the prowl. Harry instantly feels in better hands but still on the edge of them. He slaps his combadge without thinking twice—he left Ensign Wildman in charge, and whatever she has to say could be of the utmost importance. 

_“It’s fine, Harry. I hope you didn’t wake the Commander yet.”_

Harry freezes. “What?”

Chakotay’s frown only deepens, eyes falling to Harry’s chest, boring a hole into the Starfleet insignia mounted on his uniform.

_“Turns out it was just a holo-projection. Right after you left, it disappeared, and then we received what seems to be an automated transmission from a small probe where the ship used to be.”_

Harry’s... _stunned_. And useless. He doesn’t know what to do and stares at Chakotay for help, who just gestures vaguely at Harry’s combadge, as though to tell him to continue. So he, dazed, does. “What was the transmission?”

 _“Hold on, I’ll patch it through...”_ There’s a slight crackle, and then, in a disarmingly sing-song, garbled voice with stilting syntax: _“Hello, aliens creatures! Our scan has finished and deemed you... friendly! Congratulations! We have deactivated our terrifying holographic rendition of the battle cruiser we would have sent out to obliterate you had we deemed you stupid! But we deemed you decent! Congratulations! You may proceed through our space until you reach our glorious planet, a distance of twenty stupid planets away! Congratulations! Bring edible candles!”_ A slight pause, and Ensign Wildman concludes, “I’m sure the UT did its best. Their story checks out, as far as we can tell. The warship was a hoax. I assume we should continue on our current heading?” 

Harry’s still staring at Chakotay, who isn’t frowning anymore so much as wryly grinning. He actually looks _amused_ , while Harry’s dying of shame.

He woke Chakotay for nothing. For a crazy alien ruse. And Chakotay’s not even giving him a way out by resuming command and placing orders. Harry’s left to mumbles, “Uh... yeah. Thanks.”

_“Okay. Wildman out.”_

Silence follows. Awkward silence. At least, awkward for Harry. Chakotay seems just fine. Eventually, Harry manages, “I... I’m sorry, Sir. For bothering you. If I’d known... I mean, I should’ve known; it was premature to disturb you after-hours...”

“I forgive you, Harry.” He says it so kindly, but still with that cheeky grin that makes Harry’s knees weak. He feels like _such_ an idiot. He can’t believe the aliens think he’s not stupid. And worse, he can’t even hide it well, because Chakotay suggests, “You might want to forgive yourself before you head back to the bridge—you’ll make the rest of the nightshift nervous.”

Harry opens his mouth, fumbles through syllables, and finally settles on, “I’ll try, Sir.”

Neither of them moves. Harry’s not sure if he’s supposed to leave first or wait for Chakotay to retreat back into his room, peel his shirt over his head, shimmy out of his pants, and slip into bed in just boxers or _nude_.

The fact that Harry’s still thinking about that definitely isn’t helping things. If it was anyone else, he’d be holding up better. He’s just blushing even harder. And then Chakotay slowly offers, “While you’re here... maybe you should cool down in my quarters?”

Harry stares. They’ve never done that during duty. Of course not. They’re good officers. But the night shift is _so_ slack, and evidently, nothing’s happening. He wonders vaguely if this is a test, and he’s supposed to declare his work more important than whatever it is they have going on between them. Except usually, Harry’s well rewarded for choosing Chakotay over just about anything else. 

It feels like Chakotay’s already half undressed, so Harry has no choice but to venture, “I guess I should... just so I can probably apologize.”

“Sounds good to me, although you might want to make sure your underling can handle the captain’s chair.”

Really, Ensign Wildman’s just about as qualified as Harry is. He slaps his chest and tells her, “I’m going to be a little late getting back, Ensign. You have the bridge.”

_“Yes, Sir.”_

Harry’s not a _sir_. Chakotay is. Harry’s breathed it in reference, lying on his back or up on his knees, a little too often. But also not enough. Chakotay steps backwards into his quarters, bidding, “C’mon, then, Ensign. I’ve deemed you ‘friendly.’”

Harry can’t help a chuckle. It helps dissolve some of the tension. He walks in and over to Chakotay’s arms, ready to conduct a thorough probe of his own.


End file.
